


Ever After

by RumDrum91



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan Movie Marathon Event, Movie AU, Multi, ever after au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26240971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumDrum91/pseuds/RumDrum91
Summary: An Ever After AU for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon Event
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16
Collections: Captain Swan Movie Marathon





	Ever After

“My little swan,” he liked to call her. Like in the story. The ugly duckling was clumsy and gangly and loud—

“A nuisance!” Emma would interrupt delightedly. “Like me!”

Yes, a nuisance like her. The other ducklings would swim in their straight lines and let out respectable _quacks_ to greet the bullfrogs and the dragonflies. But the ugly duckling could only _squawk_ , flapping his gray, mottled wings frantically as he tried to catch up.

The others did not look back, not even once. They didn’t like the ugly duckling. They hid their heads in their wings, and pretended not to hear him.

Time went by and soon enough, the ducklings were no longer ducklings. They had grown over the long winter and returned from the south with long, silver feathers. They chattered and quacked excitedly, examining each other’s beauty and reveling in their own. But all that was forgotten when the most beautiful creature of all came into their mist. He was white as snow, with silky feathers and a long, graceful neck. He shone like a star come to rest on earth, and when he glided on the lake, the water around him seemed to sparkle in reverence.

Who was this mysterious creature, the ducks wondered? What was he? For he certainly wasn’t anyone they recognized.

“I know who he was!” Emma would sit upright, her eyes alight with excitement. “He was the ugly duckling!”

David would laugh, the warmth in his eyes glowing as he gently nudged his daughter back to her pillow. “This story is meant to help you fall asleep, little swan.”

“Tell me who the creature was,” Emma would insist. “This is my favorite part.”

The beautiful creature was someone they did not recognize, but they did know. He was their younger brother returned to them: the ugly duckling. Ah, but he was not a duckling after all, but a swan. A magnificent, beautiful swan.

“And that, sweet girl,” David would say softly, tucking her hair behind her ear, “is why I call you my little swan. Scraped knees and messy braids may be all that people see, but one day, they will look at you and realize that you are the most beautiful one of all.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The day her new stepmother and -sisters arrived, Emma did not feel like a beautiful swan. She felt exactly what she was: a messy, muddy, graceless little girl, with too many freckles and not enough teeth. Lady Regina was dark and elegant, with full red lips that curled into a smile as Emma tried to curtsy before her.

“Lady Mother,” she said awkwardly, wincing as she bent her scabbed knees. The words felt strange in her mouth: Emma had never had someone to call “Mother” before. She hoped it would feel more natural as time went on.

“Girls,” Regina said, her voice smooth and lofty, “say hello to your new stepsister.”

Emma tried not stare at them, for they were almost more beautiful than their mother—as though they had skipped being ugly ducklings, and were swans from birth. Ruby was tall and willowy, and Belle was small and doll-like; both of them with long dark hair and piercing eyes. Their gowns were of the finest silk, studded with gold thread and tiny jewels in the bodice. The girls regarded Emma skeptically as they dipped into immaculate curtsies. Belle rose with a shy smile, but Ruby remained supercilious, glancing away in a show of derisive boredom.

“What do we say, Emma?” David asked, giving her a soft nudge to remind her of what they’d practiced the night before.

“Pleased to meet you.” She bobbed another curtsy, as wobbly and graceless as the first. On impulse, she added breathlessly, “I’ve always wanted sisters.”

“How sweet.” Smiling, Regina took David’s proffered arm, so he could escort her up the stone steps to the manor. Ruby waited until they were out of earshot, then turned back to Emma, her eyes cold.

“We’re not sisters,” she said flatly. “This has nothing to do with us. My mother married your father for his title, and he married her for her money.”

Emma’s cheeks burned at the implication that her father would ever marry for money. He was an honorable, good man. He would never do something so callous and cold. She clenched her fists, but said nothing.

“Come along, Belle,” Ruby said, still eyeing Emma with cold disdain. “Mother will be waiting.”

Belle obediently followed her sister up the steps, sparing Emma a sympathetic look as she passed. Clearly the kinder of the two, but too meek to stand up to her sister. The door closed behind them, as if emphasizing the separation with the the loud _thunk!_ of the oak door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

“Which one shall we read tonight?”

Emma watched as her father, perched in his usual place at the end of her bed, thumbed through the book of fairy tales. “The ash princess,” she said after a minute. “With the fairy godmother.”

“Ag,” David smiled, nodding as he found the page. “One of my favorites.”

“Mine, too.” Emma played with the frayed end of her braid. “Father?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I come with you this time?”

He looked up slowly, his gaze way and exhausted. “Emma,” he began.

“I want to meet the king,” she pleaded. “Please, Father?”

“There’d be no one to look after you,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be at council meetings all day. And besides—wouldn’t you miss your stepmother and stepsisters?”

Emma was silent. She didn’t want to tell him that they were the reason why she wanted to go so badly.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” David promised. “Just two weeks.”

“But you just got back.” Emma folded her arms, stubbornly pushing out her chin. “ _One._ ”

“Two weeks, little swan.” David looked down in amused exasperation as Emma balanced her fist on her palm, silently challenging him to rock-paper-scissors. After a minute, he gave in: each shook their fist three times and opened their fingers, David’s in a “scissors” and Emma’s in a “rock”.

“All right, all right,” David laughed as Emma triumphantlybounced her fist over his fingers. “One.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

They stood in a line on the cobblestone path, watching as David checked the horses and secured their harnesses. Marco, the old groomsman, wrestled with a particularly unruly black devil called, “Lucius.” The horse jerked his head back, fighting the bit being forced between his teeth.

“ _Cazzo Madre de Dio_ ,” Marco swore under his breath.

“ _Non davanti ai bambini,_ Marco,” David warned. Marco’s English was limited, and Emma’s Italian nonexistent; but she imagined that Ruby and Belle were more than proficient in foreign languages.

“Must you leave me so soon, husband?” Regina sighed as David came around, placing her delicate fingers on on his chest.

“I’m afraid I must, my love.” David kissed her softly, once on her lips and again on each hand. Then he looked down at her girls, smiling. “Ruby, Belle…”

They dipped into their elegant curtsies. The formality seemed to amuse David, but he complied, offering them each a courtly bow before kissing the tops of their heads. Emma waited at the very end, tears welling in her eyes. Her father took her hands and lowered himself to one knee, his eyes warm and twinkling.

“You’ll look after your stepmother for me, won’t you, little swan?” he said.

Emma hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“And your stepsisters?”

“Yes, Father,” she mumbled, even as Ruby’s words echoed cruelly in her head. _We’re not sisters._

“That’s my girl.” He kissed her forehead and rose to a stand. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“One week,” Emma reminded him.

“One week,” he agreed.

She watched as he climbed the step of the carriage and pulled himself into the driver’s seat. Marco handed him the reins, nodding a farewell to his master as he backed away from the path. Emma clenched her fists, willing herself not to cry. Her throat ached and her vision blurred, but she refused to shed a single tear in front of Ruby.

David snapped the reins and the horses began trotting down the cobblestone, the carriage rattling after them. Emma almost ran after him, but she hung back, her eyes fixed on his dwindling form.

“Come along, girls,” Regina said, starting to turn toward the door with a sweep of her skirts.

“Wait!” Emma said. “He always waves at the gate.”

Regina flicked a dismissive smile, and continued her departure, her daughter trailing after her. Emma remained, watching intently as the carriage rounded the corner of the gate. David raised his hand in farewell—and then, something happened.

He fell.

The world seemed to spin, her nerves on fire, her heart shattering as she watched her father crumple. “ _FATHER!”_

Her own screaming echoed in her ears as she pounded down the path, not breathing, eyes swimming, panic racing through her veins as she ran toward her father’s unmoving form. _Get up, get up. Oh, God, please make him get up._ Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he _moving?_

“Father, please!” she sobbed, falling to her knees beside him. He was still breathing, but his face was contorted in pain, one side scraped with blood and dust.

“David!” Regina’s cry broke through the air. Emma hadn’t even realized she was there, and barely registered it now. Her stepmother’s hands shook as she reached to cup David’s face. “Don’t try to move, my love. I’m here.”

David looked at her, then slowly turned his eyes toward Emma. She choked, the tears she had tried to hold back now streaming down her face as her father looked at her for what she knew was the last time.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And then, his eyes dulled and saw no more. The warm, twinkling eyes turned gray and glassy, staring unseeingly at the sky.

“No!” Regina cried, her voice rising in hysterics as Emma bent over her father’s body, sobbing uncontrollably. “You cannot leave me here! _You cannot leave me here!”_

But she wasn’t the one he was leaving: Emma was. He’d left her to the mercy of her stepmother and stepsisters, unknowingly sentencing her to a life of misery and servitude. Because over the next twelve years, Regina would blame Emma for David’s death; for the fact that he had given his last words to his daughter, rather than his wife.

When Regina assumed control of the household and finances, she’d decided that Emma was too much of an expense and put her to work, demanding that she earn her own keep. “I have to provide for my children first,” she’d said, reminding Emma as she so often did that she was now an orphan. “I can’t afford a third child on a widow’s living.” Her daughters remained in the highest fashion with the finest possessions, and Emma was given a small, dusty room with naught but a few books and a crumbling hearth to curl by in the winter. She’d had to snitch a few horse blankets to keep warm, and only the kindness of the old cook, Mrs. Lucas, kept her clothed and shoed. The younger housemaid, Astrid, had taught her what she needed to know to be a servant in a lady’s household, and Marco assumed a protective, grandfatherly role over Emma. Together, the four of them created a broken little family that slightly soothed the ache in Emma’s heart. Still, Regina and her daughters seemed intent on destroying every ounce of happiness in her life. Belle less so than the others, though she said nothing when Regina and Ruby directed cruel words and biting commands toward Emma. The few sources of comfort Emma had left were her father’s books and the chest in the attic that contained her mother’s remaining possessions: remnants of the loving family she’d once had.

It was a hard life, and she feared she would never escape it. And for twelve years, she was right. Until the day she met the horse thief, when one perfectly-aimed apple would end up changing her life forever.

* * *

_Twelve years later....._

She could taste autumn in the early morning air. It smelled of smoke and frost and changing leaves, filling her lungs and leaving a pleasant sting on her skin. Emma smiled to herself as she picked her way around the thick bundles of trees and brambles, guiding the pig as he hunted for truffles. Later in the week, she would sell them in the street market, along with whatever fruits and vegetables Astrid could get from the garden.

The pig snuffled loudly as he found his treasure. “Good boy,” Emma whispered, kneeling down to gather the truffles and put them in her basket. The dirt caked under her nails and her skin was scratched by wayward twigs, leaving thin red lines. She lifted her hands, examining them with a small sigh of regret. They were rough and scarred: so unlike the delicate smooth whiteness of a lady’s. Just another thing for Ruby to mock.

By the time she was heading back to the manor, the sun had started to rise and golden streaks shown through trees. Marco should have been in the stables, brushing down the horses, but ever since the silverware had gone missing…

Emma’s hands tightened on the basket as she thought of the false accusations Regina had cast against Marco: that he was a thief and a liar, taking advantage of a widow’s generosity. She remembered his desperate pleas as clung to the bars of the constable’s carriage, trembling as he begged in broken English for release. His bail had been set at twelve silver florins, and it would take a hundred street markets before she’d earned enough to set him free. Still she couldn’t abandon him to the brutal prison conditions: he would never survive them.

“Morning,” she said, entering the kitchen through the side door. Mrs. Lucas was already working dough for the morning bread, while Astrid churned butter. The ladies of the house would still be asleep at this hour, but the preparations for their basic comforts began at dawn.

“Any luck?” Astrid asked, wincing from the blisters on her hands. Emma shook the basket in response, half-smiling.

“That’s a good girl,” Mrs. Lucas nodded. “Those’ll fetch a good price. Now—give those hands a wash, and see if you can’t get some apples for her ladyship’s breakfast. Might make her a bit more, uh…”

“Human?” Emma suggested, rubbing the dirt from her hands in the wash basin. Regina had a certain fondness for apples, and the treat might soften the normal bite of her marks.

“Well, they’re apples, not magic beans,” Astrid observed wryly. Emma snorted and wiped her hands dry, reaching for a clean apron. After securing it around her waist, she pushed her hair behind her ears and balanced an empty bushel on her hip.

“Back soon,” she called over her shoulder, nudging the door open with her toe. The other women responded with vague farewells and promises of breakfast when she returned.

The grass was still damp with morning dew as she cut across the grounds to the small ring of apple trees. Red-gold globes hung heavily from the branches, the sweet and heady scent pervading the air. Emma set the bushel down and dropped to her knees, gathering the few apples that had already fallen.

They were scattered around the trees in a vague circle, so rather than moving the bushel around, she used her apron to hold them. She was just reaching for one that had fallen a bit further than the others when she heard a familiar, high-pitched _neigh_ resounding through the air. Emma frowned and whipped around, recognizing the powerful black horse kicking up on its rear legs as a cloaked figure on his back pulled at the reins.

_Lucious._

Her father’s finest horse, his fierce and fiery black devil—and s _ome common thief was trying to take him?_

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she muttered, getting up and running toward him. The apples tumbled from her apron— all but one. In her hand, it became a weapon: one that she hurled with deadly accuracy at the thief, hitting him squarely in the head.

“ _Bloody hell!”_ he exclaimed, tumbling from the horse and landing painfully on the ground. Lucius bolted, grateful for his freedom, but rather than going after him, Emma scrabbled for the fallen apples to launch at her enemy.

“Thief!” she spat furiously, pummeling his head—his shoulders—his chest with apples. “How dare you steal my father’s horse!”

“Stop!” he shouted, struggling to stand up, raising his arm to shield himself. “Madam, I command you to stop! By order of—”

“Of what?” Emma shot back. “Lord of the thieves, are you?”

“By order of the _king!”_ The thief flung back his cloak in an indignant flurry that Emma might have laughed at, had she not recognized the shining golden crest the pinned the cloak to his shoulders. Terror struck in the pit of her stomach and she fell to her hands and knees, trembling.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not see you!” she stammered, begging every saint in heaven that he—who she now realized was the _prince_ —would have mercy.

He let out awry chuckle, and Emma peeked through the curtain of blonde hair shielding her eyes to see that he was massaging his jaw, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and disdain.“Your aim, madam, would suggest otherwise.”

“I-I—” Emma swallowed, fear swelling in her throat so that her voice was a croak. “I thought you were a thief, my lord.”

“Indeed, I am.” There was the sound of leather scraping leather as the prince swung himself onto Lucious’s back. The horse trotted around her in a circle, and the prince spoke again, “Rest assured,” he said, the sounds of metal on metal clinking within the folds of his cloak, “I will return the beast to you, since you care for it so. And as an honorable thief, I shall compensate you for the misfortune.”

Then came the heavy sound of a bulging leather sack, dropping from his hand to the ground. Emma hardly dared to breathe, let alone look inside. Even so, she couldn’t helping looking up again, barely raising her head to glimpse the prince’s handsome face and tousled black hair. His eyes glinted, and she wondered if even through the dirty tangles of blonde hair obscuring her face, he could sense her gaze.

“My mercy exists on one condition,” he said, though his smirk seemed more amused than bitter this time.

“Y-yes, my Lord?”

He snapped the reins, and Lucious reared again. “Never let it be known that Prince Killian was nearly bested by a country maid with a bushel of apples!”

With that, Lucious took off, his hooves beating the ground heavily as he galloped away. Emma remained bowed and trembling, never daring to breathe until the sound of Lucious’s hooves had faded completely. Only then did she slowly straighten up, bones cracking, to stare at the bulging leather sack before her.

It was about the size of her fist, tied with a thick leather cord. Emma cradled it in her hands, feeling the hard metal edges of what _couldn’t_ have been coins, because that would have been too generous a stroke of luck. Still, she managed to pull the cord, effectively opening the sack, and a small avalanche of golden florins spilled into her hands.

“ _Madre de Dio_ ,” she whispered, marveling at the wealth before her. This would more than buy Marco’s freedom. Emma let out a laugh of disbelief before a flood of joyful tears came to her eyes, and she thanked God for the rich thief who’d just changed everything for the better.


End file.
